This is the hardest part:When I came back to lifeI was a good family dogand not too friendly to strangers.I got a thirty-five dollar raisein salary, and through the pea-soup fogs I drove the General, and introduced him at rallies. I had a totalitarian approach and was a massive boost to his popularity. I did my best to reduce the number of people. The local bourgeoisie did not exist.One of them was a mystic and walked right over me as if I were a bed of hot coals.This is par for the course-I will be employing sundry golf metaphors henceforth, because a dog, best friend and chief advisor to the General, should. While dining with the General I said,"Let's play the back nine in a sacred rage. Let's tee-off over the foredoomed community and putt ourselves thunderously, touching bottom." He drank it all in, rugged and dusky.I think I know what he was thinking. He held his automatic to my little head and recited a poem about my many weaknesses, for which I loved him so.